Fight Club
by katyajini
Summary: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU. FOURTRIS
1. Chapter 1

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine, however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

"Damn," I mutter, "It's cold."

Setting my laptop down on the couch, I walk to the thermostat on the wall—53 degrees. I'm freezing but I don't turn up the heat. On impulse I grab my phone and call the first number I can think of. She picks up after the third ring.

"Tris," she sings, "I'm a little preoccupied right now." I can hear laughing and joking in the background. A muffled "I hate you Will," comes through. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah," I say. I'm not surprised. Christina is the best friend I could ask for but her time is more spread thin than mine—her social appetite is always famished.

"You sure?" she asks and I hear hesitation enter her voice.

"Yes I'm sure—now go have fun with Will," I lightly laugh.

I can hear the smile in her voice. "Love you, Tris."

The line is dead before she can hear my sigh.

I huddle up back on the couch. I wish I had hot chocolate; job searching is not an easy task.

* * *

The apartment is still cold when I wake up to the early shafts of light. I didn't have any hot chocolate last night, but I finished the last bit of Jack Daniels I had in the pantry. The headache is mild; I'm lucky in that regard.

The clock assures me its five fifteen am. Even so I feel the need to get the day started.

I forgo coffee and just decide to jog to the Chicago Fight Club. Unorthodox, but it is a gym where I teach kickboxing for women, and occasionally men. Benefits of working there mean I get a key. I might as well take advantage of the early morning hours anyway. Changing quickly, I leave, in hopes my mind will stop spinning.

As I get there I work to forget, all I want is to be stronger. There is something intimate about hearing my harsh breathing in the otherwise empty weight room. Even though I wrapped my hands, my knuckles are still bloody after I've pounded and kicked the punching bag for an hour. I think I stay for a while longer, bashing away at my fear and its 7:40 when I find myself in the locker room.

I let the cold water rinse away any residual blood from my knuckles before plastering them with a plastic solvent. It stings, but not as much as the cold water did.

As I'm dressing I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shock makes slits of my eyes and I don't recognize myself. Over the past four months my appearance has changed. I used to be soft edges and the implication of curve but now there is only sharp edges and toughness. My blonde hair is not unkempt, but only disregarded—my eyes have become a stern angry slate and I am striking. The three black birds that perch on my collar bone look as though they will take wing from my skin. There is no more love in my appearance. It died along with my family.

I am so flustered as I leave the gym, I almost walk into the door. Before I go forward I shake my mother's face out of my mind. I will not mourn her where the world can see.

My thoughts are interrupted by the fierce growl of my stomach. As much as I have become detached from emotional endeavors, I am still human. The thought can almost put a small grin on my face.

As I walk toward my apartment, I pass Christina's little bakery—the aroma of coffee and pastries brightens my mood slightly but enough. Walking a little faster past the glass windows, I spot Christina sitting with her boyfriend Will. Other than the couple, there is only a small group of three on the other side of the café. Something about them draws the eyes. One of them has darker skin and a laughing confidence; the second, a girl, is determined and controlled. The third person at the table is tall, brooding, and has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Before I glance away, blue eyes turns toward me—his face is handsome and intriguing. His eyes find mine and for a moment there, all I see is a dappled dark blue, and I am able to forget all that the world owes me. The stare is not kind or gentle, but it is in a word brave; he faces me, person he does not know without the fear of embarrassment. For that, I respect him without ever even knowing him. The moment is over before it even began.

The day resumes as any day I have off. I stay at home. I draw new ideas for tattoos and let the day be a quiet one. I fight to leave the images of my family in the past, but from time to time I still remember them. I did not love them enough while they lived.

The quiet is so still in the apartment that when my phone rings, I ruin the new design I am making. I see Christina's name and I am relieved and annoyed all at once. I pick up the phone and am glad that I don't have to say anything before she starts speaking.

"Hey," she coos, "You should have come to the bakery this morning; I know it's your day off."

"I was…tired."

"Liar," she says and I can't help but laugh. Christina has a tendency to utter whatever comes to mind. I can hear her smiling through the phone.

"Well, since you didn't come this morning, you are going to have to come tonight."

"Ah...no. You know my thoughts on clubs."

"Yeah, Tris, I'm pretty clear on that, just come alright? As a favor to your best friend in the universe?"

I laugh again; it's strange but Christina brings out my good humor.

"Yeah, yeah," I say and I can hear a triumphant release of air on the other end before I hang up.

* * *

Christina is at my door by seven and spends most of the hour choosing a dress and make-up. The following twenty minutes consists of the shoving of my body into a dress and the application of make-up. I don't take particular joy in the process, but it is nice to be pampered.

"Do you like it?"

When I finally see my reflection part of me is shocked. For one, I haven't worn a dress in months and I look paler than I normally do. The black outline of my eyes makes them stare back at me with intensity, burning holes in the mirror. I cannot change my long nose or rail-like appearance—but Christina has transformed me into something memorable.

I don't know what to say so I simply smile and give her a nod.

She gives me a satisfied grin and slowly begins to push me out the door.

She breathes deep exaggerated breaths and mimes exhaustion. Before she slams the door shut behind us I rush to grab my phone and my wallet.

* * *

We have to park about three blocks away from the club but Christina manages to maneuvers us to the front of a line that stretches out the door, nearing the end of the street.

"Hey, Mike," she smiles flirtatiously at him, "Gonna let us in?"

I am surprised; the tone she uses is unlike her and I know she is using him. For some reason, the thought makes me internally laugh.

Mike gives me a once over, but it is not driven by lust, "I don't know, Chris. You sure this one ain't underage?" He gives a bellowing laugh, "She looks barely more than twelve."

Christina puts a finger on his shoulder, I don't know how it works; she is taller than his six foot frame in her heels and is intimidating by right. Even so, she whispers, "I guess you're just going to have to trust me then."

"Alright, ladies, welcome to Club Dauntless."

As we enter I hear those in line give a groan and though I am ashamed to admit it, it gives me a moment of pleasure.

I lean over to Christina, "Must I remind you that you have a boyfriend?"

She tilts her head back and laughs. There is an abandon in her that I know can only come from relief from her fears. This part of her is probably what makes us friends—she is brave in the ordinary acts of life, ones that I have had a hard time facing as of late. Even though she is flippant, there is a closeness between Christina and Will that is too hard to break.

The club is filled will lights that move over us. So many people are here. The smell of sweat, carelessness and unadulterated freedom is palpable and it makes the tension in my shoulders ebb a little bit.

I decide to walk a little before finding the bar. Nodding to Christina, I move away.

There are so many different areas in the club. It is good; there are different areas labeled with overhead signs, like "the Pit", "the Chasm".

I let myself move slightly to the pounding music and vow not to get completely wasted by the end of the night. I already drank yesterday night. There is something about the effects of alcohol that gets me uneasy. Whether or not someone has a drinking problem, the haziness that comes over their eyes makes me grind my teeth.

For a while, I close my eyes and dance. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand up and I know someone is watching me. Scanning the club, I see him, that guy, the one that was in Christina's bakery this morning. He is more handsome in the light of the club. As much as he is attractive, even I know that it is unusual to meet the same person twice in one day when you have never seen them before. The drink I don't remember buying has already fazed me, so I ignore him and just keep dancing.

Suddenly, something is slid into my hand. It's a small note and the only words written on it are "Meet me out back." I look up, Blue Eyes is gone and somewhere in my mind it feels that he gave me the note.

Pushing past people, I go to the back door. I'm not quite tipsy yet, but there is a pleasant buzz that rids me of my alertness.

As soon as I open the door, someone grabs me.

"Peter, What the fu—

Three people are surrounding me and I recognize them, most of them being co-workers, Peter and Drew, and a previous boyfriend, Al.

A punch my stomach slams me against the brick wall; alcohol and heels make me slow and unsteady. An undercut to my jaw could've been easily blocked, but I'm lagging and already there is fog around my vision. In real life, punches break ribs and jaws and once you've been hit, it's over. I've lost and I know it, I just hope they don't do anything worse.

Al's hand covers my mouth so I bite as hard as I can before screaming. My shriek becomes more terrified when I taste his blood in my mouth.

Even though I'm kicking and flailing, I am certain it is doing nothing, but I won't stop. I can't let them do anything to me without making them regret it. I feel Peter's hand grope across my chest and Drew's fingers on my leg and all I can think is I won't I won't I won't.

Then suddenly I'm dropped. I hadn't realized they had lifted me off of the floor, and as I came crashing down I felt my jaws jar together.

I can't see my rescuer; all I could hear were grunts and punches. My view was clouded, and I had hit the back of my head, but when I looked all three of my attackers are gone. And then there they are again— blue, so dark they're almost black. They're all I see before the world begins to sway and fade away.

* * *

 **Thank you guys for reading! I hope that you review! I am open to constructive criticism and hope that you enjoyed.**

 **~Katyajini**


	2. Chapter 2

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine, however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

CHAPTER 2

When I wake up, it is still dark. I have no sense of time but I feel as if only a few hours have passed. I swing my legs over the side of the bed I'm lying on and I feel gongs banging inside my head. I feel slightly dizzy and I'm wearing an oversized shirt. I'm relieved when I see my dress, though ripped, is still underneath it. Most of my wounds have been dressed.

Something moves under my feet and I let out a little yelp before I can help it.

The person at my feet jerks upward and though everything hurts I scramble backwards toward the other side of the bed. As my eyes adjust to the darkness of nighttime, I see that it is Blue Eyes. When I speak, I am glad that my voice is strong.

"Who are you? What happened?"

I can see the lamp on the bedside table. The lamp looks heavy and since I can't fight properly, I would need to knock him out.

He stands and turns on the light. Without coming any closer, he says, "My name is Four." He glances quickly at the lamp. "Hitting me with that lamp won't help you."

When I don't respond, he says, "I was only trying to help. Who were those guys?" His voice is rough and filled with a subtle anger that is almost misplaced, "They didn't…" He looks at me.

Thinking back to my ripped dress, "No, they didn't." This time, my voice sounds hoarse.

His mouth tightens and he moves into another room. All of my suspicions come flooding back and I struggle to think of a plan to escape. I check my thighs and sigh in relief. I don't know anything about this man.

Then he is back in the room holding a soaked rag. He hands it to me tentatively. With a rush I realize that I have crusted tears and Al's blood on my face. A quick glimpse in the mirror on his door proves that I really look like hell.

"What's your name?"

His voice startles me out of my reverie.

"Tris," slips out of my mouth before I know what I am doing. _Idiot_ , I think to myself.

My face is rubbed red by the time I have gotten all of the blood, grime and tears off. He is watching me, I know, but the feeling that he is a threat has passed. I stare back at him.

"What happened to them?"

"I dropped the red head off at the hospital. The other two ran away."

"Are they hurt?"

"Yes."

"Good." I don't know where it came from, but there was a small savage satisfaction that came with knowing that they got at least some of what they deserved.

"Al…" Again it feels like the words are falling out of my mouth.

I feel fresh tears fall from my eyes. He does not do anything, nor do I want or expect him to. If he did, I would feel ashamed, but without his acknowledgment I can feel a semblance of dignity.

I feel his hand find my own and I see that his knuckles are covered in bruises and fresh scabs.

"You did this?" I say.

He only nods.

"Thank you." I feel the anger fill up my eyes again with a red sheen of hate, but I swallow it down. The throbbing in my head aches again and I have bruises all over my abdomen.

"It's okay if you're in pain," he says and I give him the best look of gratuity I can muster.

"What now?" I ask, it is getting harder not to groan. Before he answers, he walks into another room and I can hear him opening as refrigerator. He comes back with a bag of frozen peas and hands them to me.

"For your head," he says.

"You can stay here for the night," he starts, "You don't have to," he adds quickly, "I completely understand."

He sits on the edge of a chair in the corner of the room. I hadn't taken the time examine my surroundings, but the room is bare. The walls are white plaster and the apartment is relatively small. It isn't quite cramped, but that's mostly because of the lack of furniture other than the bed, one chair and the bedside table. My eyes flick back to him.

He looks straight at me. "If I had wanted to hurt you," he says, "I would've."

"I know," I say.

He nods, "I'll take the floor then."

As I begin to fall into a light sleep again, I am glad that he brought me here; a hospital is too expensive and reporting them would make me feel weak. We live in a world where the police protect us, but when personal vendettas are followed through, it will never end unless you handle your situation yourself.

The night is quiet when I hear it. "Tris?"

The back of my neck sparks when I hear him say my name, "Yeah?"

"When you get a chance, ruin them."

* * *

In the morning, he drives me home. As we drive back I notice other things about him; like he only wears black, that his nose has a slight hook at the end, and that he is more guarded than he first appeared to be. It is only six thirty, but neither of us could sleep.

I am still sore, but it is much better than last night. I won't need a doctor, nor can I really afford it, and I don't have the option of calling in sick to work today either.

"This is it," I say and he slows the car. Before I shut the door I lean in, "Thank you, Four." I surprise myself with how genuine the statement is.

His eyes find mine, "Goodbye, Tris."

I shut the door and he drives off. I know that I will most likely never see him again, but part of me wishes that I do. And when I remember his voice, I smile.

Back inside, I check my phone and I have six missed calls from Christina.

She answers on the first ring this time.

"Hey," I say and I wince when I hear my voice.

"Tris! Are you alright? I was looking everywhere for you and you just disappeared. That's not okay! You were supposed to meet up with us!" When her quick mouth catches up with her thoughts she speaks again, "Did something happen? Why does your voice sound weird?"

I don't know if it is the bombardment of questions or if I just trust Christina, but it comes pouring out. I don't cry, I am surprised that I sound so emotionless. It is only when I speak of Al that tears come to my eyes. Yes, I had broken up with Al a year ago but I never thought he was capable for anything like this. When I'm done relaying my story, Christina is angry and defending me in the best way she can: with words.

"They won't this again! What the fuck? You didn't go to the police? Shit, Tris, how did you get away? Are you alright now? I'll kill them, I swear, I'll fucking kill them!"

I hear genuine venom in her voice and decide that she doesn't need to know about Four.

"I'm coming over right now."

"Chris—

"Right _now_ , Tris."

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

I know I won't have time to get ready for work after she comes here, so I pack my bag and get dressed now, slowly, so that nothing hurts more than it already does. I unlock the door so that I don't have to get up to open it for her.

When she walks in and sees my bruised face and packed bag, "Hell, no, you are not going to work today."

She starts to pick the duffle bag up off the floor, but when I touch a hand to her wrist, she stops.

"I can't afford it Chris. Look at where I live. I love my job, but it doesn't pay as well as I hoped."

For a second it seems that she will fight me on this. But then she gives me a sad smile and a look of consent. I nod back at her.

"Why would they do this to you?" When she looks at me, there is a hint of sympathy, of pity in her eyes. Four did not make me feel this weak.

"Peter and I have a history. Drew is just one of his lackeys and Al…"

"You dumped him," she guesses.

'It was a little more complicated than that, but yeah," I say. It's already eight thirty and my class starts at nine. My stomach is still too queasy for breakfast so I decide to just walk to work.

"Chris, I've got to go. My class starts soon, but I'll talk to you later alright?"

She nods and starts to leave but turns back. "They assaulted you Tris. It doesn't make you fragile. Don't keep this to yourself for the sake of your pride."

When she walks out, she slams the door.

* * *

I walk into work with the most confident stride I have and set my things down in the employee area. My sides ache and the cuts on my hands burn. But I have to teach this class.

I lean my elbows against the main desk. "Tori, sign me in?"

Tori looks up and grimaces at my bruised face yet doesn't comment. Tori is wiry and thin with a tattoo of a hawk the back of her neck. She is dark, but small like me and can be an intimidating manager when she wants to be.

I walk into Mat 2, where there are rows of hanging punching bags and an open floor.

My weekly students stare at me as though I've grown a new head.

I don't mean to but I snap at them. "You guys have one hour with me! Get to a bag!"

Everyone is frozen.

"Find a bag. Go!

"For those of you who don't know, my name is Tris. I will be your instructor, as I have been the past weeks. I'm going to get you guys started and I'll continue with any questions you have for me." No one says anything, so I continue.

"Today we are going to start with a duck right-duck left-jab-jab combination. It looks like this." I show them twice slowly and once quickly on my punching bag. "Get started."

Everyone scrambles to begin and I can already see four people with incorrect form. Before I go to help them I speak again.

"For the newbies, this is a cardio kickboxing class, but each class we will end with a twenty minute semi-contact kickboxing round that _will_ be in the Cage. For those of you who don't know, I'll explain it later. Got it? I'll walk around and help you, but remember that you are the one to decide how much you learn here."

Even with my bruises and bumps, I have fun in the next hour and I am relieved when I am still able to demonstrate for my students.

"Alright guys, that was great. Have a good day! I'll see you next week." They look at me a little bit differently now. I hear someone say they'll miss me. "Yeah, I'll miss you too," I laugh.

Once they are gone, I am feeling better so I start wrapping my hands for my own workout before my next class comes in. n

"I'm starting to think you're following me," I say.

"Isn't it a little bit early for you to coach a kickboxing class?"

"Why are you here Four?" I don't want to admit it, but there is a squeezing in my chest when I say his name.

"Tori hired me." His eyes seem darker than before and he looks like he has been sweating. He seems taller now than he did before—maybe I was too preoccupied last night.

I've already started punching my bag. There is nothing to prove. There is nothing to prove.

Suddenly his hand is on my stomach, and I can't help but look at him with wide eyes. He is so much bigger than my five two frame and his hand covers my entire rib cage. "If you keep more tension here," he says, "You'll have a stronger punch."

And I know he's right.

He hasn't moved his hand. He is so close I can see that I wasn't wrong before; he smells like sweat and water and of Icy Hot.

"Be careful, Tris."

I am still watching him when he leaves.

* * *

 **Hi, everyone, this is my newest chapter. I hope that you liked it and continue reading. I'm so surprised that so many of you guys have already read my first chapter! Feel free to leave reviews and follow :P Until next time,**

 **~katyajini**


	3. Chapter 3

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine; however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

A week or so has passed since the attack but it does not haunt me the way I expected it to. Peter has not yet returned to work and I continue to pray that he doesn't. Drew came in the day after I found out that Four was working at Fight Club. When he walked in I could barely recognize him; his face was a green-yellow bruise and one eye was slightly closed from a black eye. He had a cast on a finger as well. I was shocked, but I was not remorseful and I saw that Four was wearing a grim smile. In the back of mind I wonder why Drew didn't press charges.

Four has been helping me with my sparring—he notices things in my stance that I have not seen before and I see myself getting better

I taught three separate classes today and even though I am exhausted, I cannot wait to box with him. Fighting with him has become one of the best things in my life.

"Work with me?" I ask.

He gives me a smirk and tosses me my wraps.

"You know, you should use heavier gloves when teaching. No wonder your hands are always bleeding."

"I do know something of kickboxing, you know," I say with a grin, "I just like some freedom in my hands."

He nods. Both he and I know that the only way I can win is if I am faster. I am neither tall nor muscular enough to defeat someone using brute force.

We start with the basics; I throw jabs, crosses and rear leg roundhouses at his punching mitt and then we alternate. He nudges my shoulder higher on my crosses and I motion to his leg to pivot more on his lead leg roundhouse kick. We are too out of breath to talk but there is a sort of focus that both of us possess. He makes me want to get better.

Sometime later we move to real sparring.

"Compact," he huffs. I pull my arms closer to my body. When his fist comes powerfully toward my face, I conduct a slip, ducking my head minimally to the right and coming in with a speedy uppercut aiming for his jaw. And then my hand actually hits him right in the mouth.

Both of us freeze. He backs up for a second and rubs his hand across his mouth. "Ow."

I can't hold it in, I just start laughing. I'm laughing so hard my whole body vibrates and my ribs hurt. I'm laughing until I can't breathe. All I can think of is the astonishment in his voice. He watches me for a moment with a small bewildered smile on his face and a cut on his lip. I can barely see anymore because I'm hunched over in laughter. And then he starts laughing. The sound is deep and strong and beautiful. It rumbles deep in his chest and I wish that the sound would never end. I realize with a jolt that this is the first time I have heard him laugh.

Usually when we fight we are use semi contact, based on light hits and good technique. I was careless, I never meant to hurt him, but in the past few days I have become sure of him. He seems indestructible. Sometimes I forget that he is just as human as I am.

"Are you," I say, still heaving with laughter, "okay?"

He is watching me with a strange look in his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says but his lips are still curled ever so slightly.

My eyes find his and they are mesmerizing, a deep blue like the bottom of the ocean. The laughter has now left and the room is filled with us, sweating, breathing, living. He is staring and so am I. Somehow, he has ended up closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on my hair and it is a good feeling. He places a hand beneath my shoulder blades and it slides right into place. My breath hitches and if he notices he does not show it.

"You have a tattoo," he says and his voice sounds a little deeper, a little sharp. It's startling; I realize that he is nervous.

"Yeah," I reply. My shirt had slid off to the left when we were fighting, exposing the ink on my chest. His fingers leave a feather touch on my collar bone and I cannot breathe. Small explosions occur under my skin and I feel heat, sparks where his fingers touched me. I am breathing hard again and I am watching him. I can't stop watching him.

I want to melt into his arms but I don't. I look at his face, his skin and I want to touch him. I challenge his touch with my own. In the heat of I moment I reach my thumb to touch his mouth and my hand, still covered in black boxing wraps, rests on his cheek; his lips are soft and warm. My forehead rests against his.

"Tris?"

We jump away from one another so fast I almost trip over my bag and Four catches me before I go tumbling to the floor. He now stands behind me, so I squeeze his hand behind my back and I can almost see the light in his eyes. I am disheveled and breathless and I don't want to wonder what Christina will think.

"Christina? What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner?"

She is still gaping at Four and I. If her mouth were open, the scene would be comical. I watch as she regains her composure and gives Four a tilt of her head.

"I'll meet you outside, alright?" She speaks to me but she is still scrutinizing Four.

When I turn around I know that our relationship has changed—I don't know what this is but I don't want to ruin it. As he leans down, my eyes close, and he places the softest kiss I have ever felt on my forehead. Heat finds its way to my face. His lips linger there for a moment before he stands back. I feel a rush of cold when he moves away, but part of me is grateful for the separation.

I am unsure of what will happen when this tension breaks.

But all he says is, "Be careful, Tris."

I look at him for a moment. "I always am."

* * *

We are almost in my apartment when Christina breaks the silence.

"What was _that_?"

"Nothing, Chris," I say, "He's just someone I work with."

"Huh," she remarks, "That didn't look like work to me." She shuffles her feet. "I haven't seen you that close to anyone in a long time."

Now it is my turn to pretend the snow is more interesting than our conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not—

"Yes it is, Tris," her voice is like a knife. She sees my face and her eyes soften, "Don't give this one up. You've made bad decisions in the past, but I don't think that this guy is a bad one. He isn't Al, okay? He isn't Eric either."

I feel my eyes well up and I can't look at her face. I don't say anything because I know that if I speak I will cry. And I will not cry. I cannot cry.

"On a brighter note, tell me everything," suddenly her eyes are bright and mischievous, "I only came at the end."

Burying the heat behind my eyes, I tell her what happened.

I tell her almost everything, but when I get to the end, I change my mind— his last kiss felt so good, I decide to keep it to myself.

* * *

The following days are good to me. Even though Peter has returned, he stays a little farther away from me and I feel strong. Spending time with Four has made me feel more sane, I can relax when I'm around him. The fear ebbs a little bit. To me, Four is like the high of fighting—he is strong and undiluted and pushes back with the intensity of two swords locked at the hilt. He makes me tremble with energy and I don't want to lose whatever it is we have.

I spend more time with Christina as well. Today I am supposed to meet with some of her other friends. She also says that we are supposed to meet at Dauntless.

"I can ask them to meet somewhere else, you know," her brows are furrowed with concern. "It's totally fine."

"Chris, Dauntless is great, alright?" I reply, "We can meet there just fine." I'm satisfied with my light tone. I know I have to go back there, it's just a matter of when.

"Oh and Tris!" her head pops back into the kitchen, "Bring a plus one." I hear her laugh as she goes down the hallway.

* * *

When I finish my last class of the day I watch Four finish his in the Cage. He shouts orders over the raucous of the men boxing, pummeling each other on the ground. The room is well lit and it makes his features look harsh—even then there is something magnetic about him. For a moment of his class he sees me watching. His lips curl into the smallest smirk I've ever seen and he wraps up his class.

"Hey," he says as he walks up to me. He smells like smoke and sweat and Four.

"Hey," I say back. He puts his arm on my back.

"What do you want to start with today? I was thinking we could do some Muay Thai combinations," he sits down on the bench with a small towel around his neck, "and then get into kickboxing."

I sit down beside him and lean my back against his arm with my knees bent over the rest of the bench. "Actually, do you want to come meet some friends with me?" I don't know what to do, so I'm just anxiously looking at my fingers.

When I turn, he gives me a simple nod. I rest my head back against him with a small sigh of relief and he finally gives me a laugh. When he takes my hand in his own, all I can do is smile.

* * *

We decided to meet there at nine. Christina comes over and transforms me once again into something remarkable. This is the second time she has made me noteworthy and I still don't know how to thank her for it. Unfortunately, she can't change the fact that my eyes are too big and that my nose is as long as ever but I am glad that she tries.

The dress I'm wearing is shorter than I am used to, but it makes me look like I have more in the right places. The eyeliner makes my eyes look bright blue-gray and I look alluring. For once, I do not feel ashamed of my appearance.

Christina turns me around, looks me up and down, and gives me a satisfied grin.

"You are getting laid tonight," she laughs.

"Ha, no," I flit back and she gives me a knowing smile. Before I know it we are out the door and getting into her car.

Dauntless is just as packed, probably more so, but Christina manages to sweet talk "Mike" with more ease than ever. This time, he doesn't make a comment on my height.

It is only when we slip into the bar that my heart starts pounding and my ears ring. All I can see are Peter and Drew and Al. Peter with his disgusting hands and there is a phantom pain in my side. Then suddenly a strong arm is around my waist and I know that it is Four. Thank god, it is Four.

He looks down at me and the fear floats away into the night. He's here. I'm not afraid.

Christina had walked forward, but now that she sees that I am gone, she turns back and smiles when she sees Four. I can tell Four doesn't respond by the slight confusion on her face, and for some reason it makes me want to laugh. Maybe it is because I know that he is more mine than he will be hers.

Four looks handsome. He is handsome when he is sweating and fighting and dirty. Now he is something beautiful when he is calm and standing by my side. He is wearing a black leather jacket that hides the edging of a tattoo on his neck. My fingers itch to pull the jacket down just so I can touch the ink.

We find the rest of our party at a table in 'The Pit' and when we walk closer someone stands up. He is shorter than Four with darker skin and shaggy hair. He is handsome. I recognize him from the first day I saw Four in Christina's bakery.

"Four?" the man says.

I'm about to step out of Four's arm so he can greet the guy from the bakery, but his grip tightens ever so slightly on my waist and I feel the smallest grin break onto my face.

"Zeke," he replies, his voice is relaxed, "Uriah here too?"

Another man stands up, taller than Zeke with the same coloring, presumably Uriah. The brothers, I assume, may not be similar in terms of height but they have the same boyish demeanor.

"Hey," Uriah says. He has an impish grin that is contagious and for some reason I already like him.

For the first time they notice me. "This is Tris," Four says, and now the whole table is looking at me.

I muster a smile and Four and I slide onto the seat.

Christina laughs. "Well, I see you don't need me for introduction!"

Christina slides in opposite me and tells Four and I the names of the remaining people at the table.

"This is Marlene," she says, pointing to a pretty blonde with a kind face. "This is Lynn and that's Lynn's sister Shauna." Lynn looks bitter but I feel as though it is a temperament and not a current mood. Her sister is more lively and the two share the same dark hair color. For a moment, Shauna seems familiar and then I realize that she was the third party that same day in the bakery. I get the overwhelming urge to punch her for no apparent reason.

And pointing to the tall blond man with celery green eyes next to her Christina says, "And, Four, this is Will."

I find it easy to talk to these new people. I thought it would be difficult but the words slip from my mouth and I enjoy the company. Four does not speak much but I know that he enjoys being here. Occasionally he will squeeze my hand or brush my fingers so that I know he is still here with us.

"You haven't had a hamburger since high school?" Uriah practically jumps out of his chair to call the waitress. Even Four honors us with a laugh at that one.

"How have you not eaten a hamburger since high school?" he laughs.

"Just never got around to it," I say.

Four laughs again.

Everyone is watching but for once, I don't mind. Tonight is good. Today has been good. Maybe tomorrow will be even better.

* * *

Four insists on driving me home and I easily agree. It could be the beer talking but I have a hunch that it is not. I have fallen deep into his friendship and there is a small shred of me that fears it. How can I come so close when there is so much brokenness I have to hide? I know it is irrational after all he has done for me, but I do not trust him to stay when he learns of my past.

The silence that fills the night is as beautiful as the falling snow. I wish the night was not coming to an end. We are in front of my apartment before I know it but when I look at Four, I know that the night is not over yet. This night is alive, alive until the day the people I love or will love stop filling my life.

I rest my forehead against his hard chest and he interlaces his hands at the small of my back. We rock gently back and forth in the falling snow for what seems like a long time.

* * *

 **Thats a wrap guys! I hope that you liked the new chapter and that you continue reading! As always, if you have a comment don't hesitate to PM me or review!**

 **~katyajini**


	4. Chapter 4

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine; however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

It is nine in the morning on Sunday when I walk into work. Tori is sitting on the ledge of the lobby desk with one leg hanging down. Though she is small, something about her dark casualness makes her even more intimidating. I lean my body against the beaten wood edge and flick her shoe. A faint laugh is visible in her eyes. But when the door opens, she stiffens.

"Four, you scared the shit out of me," she says without turning around.

"Not Four," a voice sing songs. I don't have to turn my head to know that it is Peter. After my attack, I was glad Peter had decided to stay away. Now he seems to be more comfortable around me again. The next time he decides to corner me, it will be a grievous mistake.

"Well, look who it is," he says looking me up and down, "She's a Stiff and she's a kiss ass." He walks closer and the only thing I want to do is cringe away from him. I don't. "Tori is probably the only reason you're here. It can't be your ability to fight." He says it with a casual nonchalance that makes the blow far harder. He's staring me down, but I make myself stand taller and whisper so softly not even Tori can hear.

"You don't want to end up like Drew, do you?"

He backs up for a second.

I'm scowling, but Tori couldn't have cared less. "Go get ready for your class Peter." Tori gives him a stern glare. With reluctance, he turns around. He backs down quickly, but that only means I will have to be more careful now.

"Tris, can I talk to you for a sec?"

I didn't notice but I've been digging my nails into my skin so hard I nearly draw blood. I immediately release my fingers. There are already enough half-moon scars on my palms.

When I look up, Four is watching me from the other side of the main lobby. He doesn't approach me, but I know he saw my confrontation with Peter and the redness in my hands. Without looking back, I follow Tori into her office.

The office is more like a glorified closet than anything else. Tori doesn't seem to mind. She doesn't sit down but the tension she held only a few minutes' earlier eases out of her shoulders.

"What did Peter do?"

The words are like a bullet in my chest. I can't stop myself; I fall into her arms like I am a child all over again. Her embrace is warm and she reminds me of my mother.

Tori gently kneels to the floor, still holding me in her arms. She says nothing but she clutches me tightly and it feels good. Tori was there for me when Eric's drunken rage killed my family. Tori was there when Al punched me and then was too afraid to look me in the eyes again. Tori was the one who put the ink on my collar bone in memory of my family. Tori was the first one to teach how to defend myself. I met Tori at a point when I needed an anchor. For a long time, she was what kept me sane.

I never told her about the night with Drew, Peter, and Al. It was something that would bring me down, make me smaller than I am, make me weak. But I tell her now. I tell her everything now. I tell her about Four. I tell her about Al. I tell how much it all hurts. I tell her all of it. And she listens.

She kisses my forehead and I could fall asleep in her arms. I am getting up to stand when there is a knock and Four steps half-way into the room. Immediately I know something is wrong. His voice betrays nothing but his back is straight as a rod and I can see the muscles in his arms raised with tension.

"Tori, there's someone in the main lobby." He looks down at me and for a moment his eyes flicker with worry. "He says he's looking for Tris."

I feel Tori grab my hand tightly.

I get up slowly. The air around us is taut with apprehension. There is nothing I can do but face this unknown. I feel like a stone just dropped to the bottom of my stomach but I hope that for once my instincts are wrong.

I meet Four's eyes again. He is as anxious as I am. Something about this person has set him off.

When I walk into the lobby, my breath hitches and my throat fills with bile. I want to throw up, I want to run and cry and leave. And then I am angry. I am so angry.

"Eric." My voice is low, raspy and I don't recognize it.

He has changed. His once buzz-cut blonde hair is now brown. He wears all of his piercings, two through his left eyebrow, a stud in his nose and a ring in his bottom lip. Things about him have changed but his eyes are the same. Clear, frigid and cruel.

"Tris," his smiles sending worms squirming in my stomach. Four comes to stand behind me. I feel his warmth, protective, against my back.

Eric sees Four behind me. "And her brand new boyfriend. How'd you hook this one? You sleep with him yet?"

"Leave," I say. My voice is a growl, an animalistic sound. I don't know what else to say to the man who murdered my family in the name of jealousy. I think back to the days I struggled to please him and the bile rises from my throat to my mouth.

He laughs. It sets my teeth on edge. It takes everything I have not to fling myself at him. I want to stab my fingers into his eyes, I want to hurt him.

He takes a step toward me and I involuntarily take a step back, bumping into Four. Four is about to move in front of me, but I touch his hand, and he doesn't move again.

Eric smiles wider when he sees me move back. "You think I took all this time to find you and now I'm going to leave? I'm going to finish what I started, Tris."

Four's muscles tense for a fight.

"How dare you," I hiss and my sound coming from my mouth is a formidable stranger. "Don't you dare walk in here thinking you own me. Don't you dare think for one second you can walk back into my life. Leave, Eric. Leave!" My voice is so loud it echoes throughout the rest of the gym. I feel Peter and Tori's eyes on my back. I feel Four's eyes on Eric and I am seeing red.

I'm stalking my way toward him and the pocket knife I carry in my back pocket is at his throat. I am impulsive and stupid. I hear Four's intake of breath. I feel the tip of Eric's knife against my side, under my ribs.

"I'd be worried Tris. It wasn't so hard for me to hurt your family, so it wouldn't be so hard to hurt you." His voice is malicious, but he whispers, so only I can hear it. "I did hurt you, didn't I?" he questions, "But I think you liked it too." I let out a primal scream.

"Beatrice!" Tori yells.

It's already too late. I use my right hand to grab his wrist and slam it against the front desk—he no longer holds a knife. My leg swings over his neck and he comes hurtling down to the floor, face first. My knees hold his arms twisted behind his back and tears are flowing down my face as I point my knife into the back of his neck. I feel the tears of anger on my face but I can't hold them back anymore.

The room is still for a moment filled only with my tormented breaths.

Eric laughs again. Even when he is down, he is laughing. He knows he has already hurt me far more than he planned to. Even though it is him down on the floor with a knife at his neck, he has won. He has won above all.

"Huh," he grunts and his eyes are all sadistic pleasure, "You don't know how long I've waited to see your face. I wish you could've seen them the way I did. Your mother wasn't so pretty anymore."

"Shut UP!" I yell and I'm punching him, slamming his face down into the floor. The knife has turned into my palm. His blood and my blood are melding into one and I can't see anymore. He is already unconscious but my knuckles still crush his cheeks and I can't stop. I see their broken bodies in the driveway, the side of the car smashed and I see Eric's inebriated smile. Memories spring up of his fist on my jaw, his knee in my stomach. I'm standing now and my shin connects with his side and I hear a rib break. I'm crying and my ears ring.

Suddenly arms wrap around my waist. I slap and yell and bite. I'm not done yet.

"Stop." The voice is low but I can hear it. "It's over. You won." I looked up to see Four's face. I know that my nose is bleeding and that I must seem insane. His eyes are wide and alarmed. I have never seen Four look so alarmed.

He's about to speak again and I say, "I'm fine." My voice is hollow, a fifth and final person in the room. My anger is gone. In its place is that empty hole in my heart—it had been there before, but now the hole is bigger, warping my heart into something more cold and black than anything else. "I'm fine now."

When I walk away, no one speaks to me. Peter does not look at me and his eyes are trained on the floor. Tori watches at me with more pity than I can bear. I don't want to see the expression on Four's face so I don't look back. I pivot toward the exit door. I thought I had hit the rock bottom of my despair but I was wrong. Standing in the doorway is Christina. One look in her tormented brown eyes and I know that she has seen more than enough. I have done exactly what I fought so hard to avoid—I have let my bottled anger alienate me from the few people I have come to care for.

* * *

When I shut myself into the office, it takes only five minutes for Four to come inside and sit across from me. He doesn't say anything but his eyes never leave my face. I do not dare look at him for fear of his rejection so I keep my mouth closed and my eyes down. In the terse silence I realize that there would be police. As far as I knew, Eric's time in jail hadn't ended, so if he had escaped, it might give me some favor. In my rush of worry, my head swung up. My wide eyes startled Four but for some reason there was no disgust, no outrage, no fear of me in his body, his face.

"Why are you still here?" I ask; my voice is as coarse as gravel.

Four gives me a sidelong look. "The ambulance will be here soon. We will tell them that this was self-defense."

We both know that this could never have been ruled as self-defense—Eric was beat far beyond any means of self-defense. I didn't have a scratch on me other than my bloody hand.

I couldn't decide whether I should address the fact that he was still talking to me or that I might spend some time in jail.

"Four, why are you still here?"

His hand reaches up to my face and the backs of his knuckles slide along my cheek. I struggle not to lean into his hand and the gentle comfort that it brings.

"I will always be here Tris. I will always," his unfathomable blue eyes search for something inside me, something I don't know how to find, "be here."

He gets up without another word and walks out of the office, leaving me neck deep in my emotions. I don't know what to do anymore, so I set my head in my hands and wait for the cops to come and take me away.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! It has been wonderful being able to write. I hope that you guys are enjoying reading the story as much as I love writing it. I'm sorry for not responding to the reviews that I got—for the first couple of days I couldn't access them but now I can so all's good. It is always so wonderful to hear your thoughts and I do not plan on ending the story soon, so buckle up!**

 **~katyajini**


	5. Chapter 5

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU. FOURTRIS.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine; however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

I have been sitting in the office for almost forty-five minutes when the door of the office opens. I don't look up but I know it must be a police officer.

"Don't worry," I say haggardly, "I won't put up a fight."

"I know," says the officer. I've heard that voice before.

"Uriah?"

"Just the one," he replies, offering me a toothy grin and a hand. I take it and stand up. My ears rush when I am on my feet and I almost fall down again. Almost.

"Tris, I'm going to have to take you to the precinct, but I'll make sure this goes nice and easy, alright?" Then he gives me a genuinely comforting smile and relief blossoms in my chest. It is nice to know that someone does not hate me despite all I have done.

"Okay." When I speak, I still sound strangled but my voice is a little less strained.

He gives me the grace of waiting to handcuff me until we near the squad car. I know Uriah is reading me my Miranda Rights but the sound and his mouth is a blur. It has nothing to do with my injuries.

When I duck my head inside the car I see that Four has his eyes trained on me. For a moment they are brimming with questions and I want to run into his embrace. I cannot. Even if I had the chance to, I do not know if he would accept me now that he has seen the anger that burns inside me.

His eyes are still reaching for mine when the car pulls away from Chicago Fight Club.

* * *

I'm sitting in a standard police station—desks, slightly low ceiling and damp feeling in the air. I'm sitting on a wooden chair in front of Uriah Pedrad's desk. I've been sitting here for almost an hour now. My hands lay cuffed in my lap.

Uriah looks at me. "Let's go get you cleaned up and then we'll talk."

He starts to lead me away, when someone grabs his arms from behind. I feel the tug on my wrists when I am yanked back slightly. When I look at the newcomer, I can't stop my heart from twisting inside my chest. I look at the ground. I hear Four speaking quietly to Uriah for a moment. I can't focus enough to hear what they are saying.

"Four…" Uriah starts.

Four looks deadly.

"Alright, alright. I'll take you to the employee bathroom. You have ten minutes." Uriah rolls his eyes. He looks at Four again. "Try to remember that a minute is only sixty seconds, okay?"

We have to take two flights of stairs down to a door labeled 'PERSONNEL ONLY'. When we get there I expect them both to wait outside, but Four starts to walk into the bathroom with me.

"Four," Uriah says. He hands him a First Aid kit.

Only Uriah waits outside.

The tile is small and gray. There are three sinks and three stalls. There is no stall for the handicapped.

Four takes a key I didn't see hanging from his index finger and unlocks the handcuffs. I blow out a breath of relief and rub my wrist with my left hand, not bothering to contract my right. It is still laced with pain from the edge of the knife.

I see myself in the mirror and it seems I have a knack for making myself unrecognizable. I'm covered with blood and cold sweat. My hair is stringy and matted to my head with a mixture of the perspiration and blood. My hands are covered with crusted blood and I have a smear on my neck. My eyes look wild and frantic and I notice for the first time that my fingers are shaking. I look Four and then back at the mirror. I look small and afraid and it seems the world has broken me.

I turn away. Four has been watching my face. I know he saw the swirl of emotions that crossed my eyes. He isn't stupid.

We move to the sinks and I feel his hands, large, dangerous, and gentle, under my arms as he lifts me to sit atop the bowl of the sink. My feet hover more than a couple inches above the ground.

I hear him take paper towels and drench them with cold water. He dabs at my forehead, my face, my arms. The soft rhythm is soothing, but the pain still remains.

Four breaks the silence. "Do remember what I told you that very first night?"

My head snaps up. We have not talked of that night since the day that it occurred.

"Pain is not the shame you think it is. You can be in pain here."

I did not believe him the first time he said it, but this time I do.

When I muster the courage to speak, my voice is a croak. "Four, why don't you hate me?"

He laughs.

Left over temper whirls inside me and I push him with both hands. The cut on my right hand rips open and starts bleeding again. I give a little cry of pain. My hands are bruised and hurting and blood flakes onto the floor when my fingers flex.

He catches my hands and holds them gingerly in his own. Four is frightening; it is hard to imagine someone so immensely intimidating being so tender. Even though the skin of his hands is rough and calloused, he holds mine as though they are not covered with filth and someone else's blood. He discards the bloody towels and gets new ones, softly removing the red-black crud from my knuckles and under my fingernails.

I know I shouldn't but I raise my hand and touch the side of his face. Tingles spread through my fingers. I want nothing more than to keep touching him. When I touch him I forget that the world is cold and harsh.

So I don't stop. I watch as my fingers trail across his cheek, into his hair. I touch the edge of his tattoo that crawls out onto his neck, like flames roiling from his back. He closes his eyes as my fingers flutter over his eyelids. He is so beautiful but he is too selfless, too strong to see it.

"Tris," he says so soft that I almost can't hear it. "Stop." The soft sternness in his voice makes me take my fingers away from his face. When the feel of his skin is gone I cannot help but want it back.

His eyes, a dreaming color, stare into mine. The silence begins again. The lack of sound is so loud that it deafens me. He continues to wash the blood and grime off of my face. He starts to clean the gash in my hand. I am lucky I am still able to use it.

The silence subsides into a comfortable peace and I am lulled by his deft hands, smoothing and repairing me. I still need a long shower, but there is nothing I can do it about it now. I still feel like there is a layer of shame coating my body. I had decided to learn self-defense to do just that—defend myself, but I had made it into something of a weapon of revenge. I had wielded my new-found power like a gun, like a car that I drove drunkenly into those I hated. Everywhere I look I am becoming the things that disgust me.

Tears are falling from my eyes again as Four finishes wrapping my hand.

He gently brings me down, but instead of walking out the door he holds me with an arm crooked under my knee and another under my shoulders. I press my head into his chest and I feel safe. For a moment, I feel like he will hide me from the world and I don't want to walk out of this little room.

Four sits down with his knees crossed and rocks me back forth like the day in the snow. I wrap an arm around his neck and pull his face close to mine. Thank you, I think. I don't say it, but he knows it. He presses a kiss on the top of my head and it drowns out the pain to a general dull ache. He helps me stand and picks up the handcuffs from the floor. I feel his palm at the small of my back. He looks down at me; his eyes are the darkest I have ever seen them. Then he walks me back onto the battlefield.

* * *

Uriah asks me a set of pedigree questions—my name, my address, my age. He takes my fingerprint and asks if I have any ID. I don't. I'm still wearing the clothes I teach in, athletic, mostly skin tight and not a lot of space for knick knacks. Uriah checks if I have any contraband, of course, I do not. They take away my pocket knife as arrest evidence. Uriah's partner doesn't talk to me much—a quick glance here and there. I don't wait until my appointed attorney arrives to answer any questions that Uriah may have.

My mind, though clearer than before, is unfocused. I am still shaken from the rage that entered my body, possessing me; still shaken from the appearance of Eric, still shaken from what the day has brought.

Before we begin, Uriah speaks to me. As though I am a friend and not someone he just arrested.

"I don't know you well, Tris. But I'm going to do my best to get you out of here in the next couple days. I'll avoid a trial if I can and make sure Eric stays in jail this time." His honesty is in his eyes. I trust him because Four does and because he didn't act as though I am dangerous, a gun without the safety on.

He begins to ask questions. Occasionally writing notes, always watching my face.

I hesitate when he speaks of Eric. My whole body freezes and the habit of hiding my past is still alive inside me. I choke out the answers to his questions and I know that he hates to be the one asking them. Uriah only does this for the sake of getting it done and not because he wants to torture me.

When the dizzying shock begins to leave my head, I start to feel like myself again. Some curious part of me scrutinizes Uriah. He is definitely handsome, but in a knowing way, as if he grew up with the acknowledgement of his appearance. He is not like Four who seems surprised by the idea that he is something special.

He cuffs my hands again and walks me to a cell within the precinct. I sit there, letting my thoughts consume me until my weariness takes hold.

* * *

When I wake up, there are two men standing above me.

"Beatrice Prior?"

I nod. There is a bitter taste in my mouth and I feel stale.

"My name is Max Carver," says a tall man holding a clipboard, "I'm a district attorney and this is Marcus Eaton," he gestures to the man behind him. "He's—

"The mayor of Chicago," I say, my throat dry.

Max nods.

I'm suddenly very aware that I am not dressed properly, that my breath smells terrible. My face turns red with embarrassment.

Marcus Eaton looms over me, his height and demeanor all at once frightening and commanding. His hair is cropped close to his head and his eyes are dark and cold. He is not the charismatic man I have seen in the news.

"Might I ask," My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth, "why you're here?"

I wait for Max to answer but Mr. Eaton does instead. "I felt it was time to see how this precinct was doing and what kind of people we hold here. The annual inspection was to be done in a couple of weeks, but I don't think they'll mind if I come a bit early?"

"No, sir," I mutter. Part of me wonders why I have become so submissive but for the life of me, I can't answer.

"Why is this young lady being held here?" It takes me a moment to see that he is addressing Max.

"Battery and assault, sir," Max replies. I know that Max said his last name but I don't remember it.

"Is she going to be released?"

They have forgotten I am in the room.

"Yes, sir."

"When?" Mr. Eaton looks just about ready to slap Max.

"That's indefinite, sir."

"Tell them to release her now, under my say-so." He looks Max in the eye. "If they refuse, they can talk to me."

I feel my breath puff out of my chest. I should be glad this man is bailing me out of jail early but I am filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. Who is this man? Why is he helping me? What does he want?

"Have a good day Ms. Prior," Eaton calls over his shoulder. He is all nonchalance and it makes me uneasy.

Max is still standing in front of me once Mr. Eaton has left.

"You owe him a favor now, Ms. Prior. Don't take it lightly."

His words are still turning over in my head as Uriah drives me home. I want to believe that the worst has passed, but I have a feeling that this is only the beginning.

* * *

 **Hi guys! I wasn't sure how to move from Chapter Four but I have a plan. For all of the Fourtris fans: it's coming, I promise. I have very specific plans for them in the upcoming chapters. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and continue reading! Be sure to R &R!**

 **~katyajini**


	6. Chapter 6

**Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU. FOURTRIS.**

 **I do not own the characters. The plot is mine; however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

It's been nearly a month since my arrest. Though no one says anything, things have changed. I'm not the Tris that I used to be. I had lost any reliability that I had gained. The only people that have not changed are Christina and Four. Tori, though she cares for me still, does not see me as the victim as she once did. She is almost afraid of me now. I feel it like a punch in the stomach.

I take solace in sparring with Tobias and spending more time than ever with Christina. I forget myself and the chaos of my mind when I am with them. Four has taken to walking me home from work every day and I have become something of a mannequin for Christina.

"C'mon Tris," Four yells, "Think faster!"

I love fighting but today my mind is everywhere. I can't stop thinking about Eric and my mom and Al and everything else. I'm agitated and unfocused. Four can feel it. It opens up my weak areas, makes me prone to defeat.

Suddenly Four sweeps his leg behind the bend of my knees and I go down to the mat hard. The breath rushes out of me and I rest the back of my head against the mat. The cool plastic feels good against my skin.

Four lays himself down beside me.

"Tris." It is a statement, but I hear the question all the same.

"I'm just confused." I turn my head so I can see the profile of his face. He turns his head and looks back at me. I turn my head to look toward the ceiling. "It's getting to me more than usual today."

He rests his head against my shoulder. His head is slick with sweat but I don't mind.

"I was evil that day wasn't I?"

He tenses next to me.

Then he looks me in the eyes. They are stern and dark, verging on disappointed.

"You don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

Then Four's phone rings. He looks torn for a moment, glancing at me, but then stands up and picks up his phone. He sits down next to me on the middle of the mat.

After a few moments I feel the air shift. Four is rigid. His eyes are so dark they are almost black and his hands are clenched. I can feel anger coming off of him in waves.

I sit up next to him. His back is straight and his eyes are trained on the wall in front of him.

"What does he want?"

Four's voice is icy, like knives and sharpness and there is a long pause.

"Tell him that I'll come."

Four looks at me and for a moment I can see the soft blue of his eyes. "I have to go," he says. His eyes search mine for a sign of consent.

He grabs his coat and leaves with wide, sweeping strides.

For a moment I'm stunned out of action. Four is usually not abrupt, but I can nothing about it now. I still have thirty minutes before my next class, a simple cardio kickboxing routine with a small group, but I'm already distracted. Questions fill my head, but I won't ask them. It is his decision to tell me his secrets. I still have not explained to him, or anyone, the depth of my relationship with Eric. Christina knows I dated him, but she doesn't know what happened in between.

I teach my class, but I am not as helpful as I would like to be. I do not pay as much attention as I usually do and I watch the clock constantly.

Four's behavior made me anxious and I don't like it.

* * *

I'm just about ready to leave Christina's apartment. The night is getting older and I sincerely don't want to be driven home by drunken Christina. Uriah, also present, lives in the same building. It's easier if I just walk. As I'm pulling on my coats, I say my goodbyes.

"Alright, guys!" I have to yell so they can hear me. "I've got to go, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

No one responds, but that was expected. As I open the door, I surprise myself with a spontaneous smile. My life has been getting better in the past month. I have friends I spend time with, Eric is gone and I have Four. My heart feels light and airy and I don't want the feeling to go away.

"Tris! Wait!"

"Uriah?" I ask and punch his shoulder lightly. He doesn't notice. He is still shuffling his hands nervously in front of him.

"Uriah, what's wrong?"

"Tris, I never meant for this to happen and I know that I have to tell you and if I had been there I would have canceled the order with evidence that he was dangerous." Uriah is looking at me with pleading eyes and he wants my forgiveness. Forgiveness.

My voice is a little colder now. "Uriah. What happened?"

"I—

"Uriah, talk."

"Someone released him." Uriah looks hopelessly at me.

"Released who, Uriah? Released who?" I already know the answer but I'm dreading the moment it comes out of his mouth.

"Eric. Eric was released on the orders of a Marcus Eaton."

I stare at him. Even though I suspected, I had no idea that Marcus Eaton was involved. I don't know what to do, so I leave. Without saying anything else I turn around and walk out the door. As I'm walking down the stairs, I hear Christina call my name, but I don't answer.

* * *

Walking helps clear my head a little. I know that for days my mind will be swirling with all of this new information. Why would Marcus release me if he was releasing Eric as well? Who is that man? Where is Eric now? I let the night wind blow away my questions for a couple of minutes. I need Four. Four would know what to do. But for now, I need something to help me forget. Anything, as long as it gets my mind off of Eric.

As I near my apartment I see a figure slumped against the door. It's too dark to see anything other than a silhouette. Walking slowly closer the light hanging from the outcrop in front of my building sheds light on the person's face. Then I see it. The strong jaw, the full bottom lip, slit and covered in blood. The soft brown hair snarled and flattened against his forehead with crusty red.

"Four!" I yell and rush to his side. "Oh god Four," my fingers tremble over his face for a moment as I kneel next to him. "Four, who did this to you?" He is barely conscious and doesn't open his eyes when I speak. "Oh god, Four," I feel my heart swell with his pain and for a brief second I don't know what to do. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. I turn around but the street is empty.

"We've got to get you inside," I say. I don't know how I will get him upstairs—my apartment is on the fifth floor and my building doesn't have an elevator. I pull his arm onto my shoulders but when I slip my arm under his back he groans.

"Oh god," I whisper. His back is wet and when I pull my arm away, I see that his blood now covers my arm, fresh and red. My eyes well with new tears. Who would do this?

I put my arm under his back again and struggle to pull him to his feet.

"C'mon, Four," I gasp, "You have to help me."

He must hear me because some of his weight is lifted off of my frame when he places his feet on the ground. He is still primarily leaning on me, but I can move him now.

We have to stop every three or four steps but we manage to make it to my landing. I am out of breath and Four nearly collapses on the floor as I'm trying to get my key out of the pocket of Christina's coat. I almost drop the key twice before I am able to fit it into the lock and open the door.

I move Four slowly and maneuver him to lie face down on the couch so I can see how badly he hurt his back. I gasp when I turn on the light. His back is soaked with blood starting to dry, black and frightening. The wound is so fresh I want to call an ambulance; get him to a hospital. I'm about to do it when I stop and realize that Four would have gone to the hospital. He came to me for a reason. The wounds aren't fatal, so I'll just have to see what I can do.

I get out my first aid kit and start by cutting down the back of his shirt and peeling the flaps of fabric off of his skin. In the harsh light of my apartment the wounds look even worse. He has eight gashes on his back, deep and long. I wash the cuts with warm water and try to make it as painless as possible. Four says nothing but when I check, he is awake. I continue cleaning his back. I can't help noticing the tattoo that covers the rest of the skin on his back, full of fire and symbols that I don't understand, but are beautiful none the less. I see scars, healed, that must have been just like the gashes I'm tending now.

When I see them unbelievable rage flashes through me and I hate whoever did this. I am so angry but all that comes are tears, sliding down my face and dripping onto his skin. I am reminded of when he washed my hand in the police precinct and it makes me feel even worse.

"Four, this is going to hurt." I look at his face. He gives me a faint nod. I pour peroxide over his wounds and I feel his back stiffen and hard grunt come out of his mouth. I immediately cover the wounds with large swaths of gauze and fit them in place with medical tape. I cannot tend to the wounds on his face in this position.

I sit on the floor facing him and I touch his hand. His fingers tighten around my own and I suddenly understand how strong he is, how much pain he suffers.

I take the washcloth and wipe the blood from his forehead. I let my fingers run gently through his damp hair and rest on the back of his head.

"Tris," he says. My eyes snap up to his. His voice is low and hoarse. "We have to," he sucks in a breath, raspy and painful, "stop meeting like this."

Even his tiny crooked grin cannot bring smile to my face and instead press a kiss between his brows and hold my lips there, willing him to get better; wishing I would look up to find him healed and ready for anything. Even in this moment, little fireworks spread across my mouth. When I pull back, he leans his head against mine and squeezes my hand.

"I have to tell you what happened."

It is my turn to suck in a breath. "Only if you want to."

"I need to."

I look at his face and he is looking at me earnestly, hopefully. I nod.

"I went to see my father today."

He doesn't speak again for a long time. But I sit there and I listen.

"His name is Marcus Eaton."

Shock courses through me. I want to speak again but I bite the inside of my cheek. I never told Four, or anyone, about Marcus Eaton granting the release of both Eric and I.

"My name is Tobias Eaton."

He says everything slowly, as though the words are new. I know that he has never said them before. Part of me registers that before this moment, I never knew Four's last name.

"I thought I would be strong when I went." He gives a cold laugh that makes my heart squeeze with sadness. "I guess I wasn't."

"When I was five, he slapped my mom. I didn't do anything. When I was seven, he slammed her against the wall. I just hid and pretended not to hear. When I was eight, he hit her with a belt. This time, I grabbed his hand." He takes a breath and doesn't look at me. "He didn't stop. He just whipped both of us. He made sure to hit me harder."

I don't know what to do, so I don't do anything and wait for him to speak again.

"My mom left when I was ten and left me with him. I was alone."

I tighten my hand on his. Both he and I had to face our fears alone, but if he feels he has to relive them for me, he doesn't have to do it by himself.

"When I was eighteen, I got a tattoo to cover all the scars on my back. I left for the army and I was a good soldier. I got my new name there. Four, four determinable fears." His voice becomes nonchalant and he spits the words like they are something foul.

"I avoided Marcus by living in New York and learned more about self-defense. Then I moved here. I thought that if I came back I could face Marcus. All of these years and I am still the weak kid who couldn't protect his mother."

"No," I say fiercely and my voice is almost a growl. The Four I knew was not one to look for pity and I would not show him any here. I put my hand on his face and make his eyes meet mine. "Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare."

His eyes are a clear dark blue in our close proximity. I don't often get to see Four directly because I am so much shorter than him, but now I examine his eyes, his mouth, his face. I look past all of the bruises and the small cuts, past the split lip and the matted hair, and I see a kindred spirit. Someone who holds all the guilt, all the pain for so long they have forgotten what it means to live without it.

"You are not weak, Four. That is the last thing you will ever be." I truly mean it.

"Tobias," he says forcefully. "My name is Tobias." He looks at me with eyes wide and searching. "It's nice to hear my name again."

His face has gotten a lot closer to mine. "Okay, Tobias," I whisper.

The smallest smile reaches his mouth and I don't resist when he kisses me. It is soft and warm and he tastes like water and like the blood on his lip. I am stiff at first; it has been a long time since anyone has kissed me. But when he puts his hand on my neck, I automatically kiss him back, drinking him in. I am unsure of myself, of why he likes me but for now I am not afraid.

I pull back and I know he understands. He puts his lips on my forehead and I want to kiss him again. In an instant of boldness, I press my mouth to his one more time.

I turn around and lean my back against the foot of the couch. My fingers are still interlaced with his. We are together, afraid, stronger and silent until we fall asleep.

* * *

 **Okay, Fourtris is my life. There I said it. :)**

 **I hope that you guys like the chapter. Tell me what you guys think about Marcus. What do you guys think is going to happen? I am well on my way with the next chapter so if you guys are ready for more, its coming!**

 **~katyajini**


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